


Never trust a boy born in '59

by gothzabini (girl412)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, Lie Low At Lupin's (Harry Potter), M/M, POV Remus Lupin, Post-Sirius Black in Azkaban, Recovery, Remus Lupin Lives, Sirius Black Lives, Trauma, a little bit., i think ?, or something like that. just want to say, they've been through enough. i don't want them to go through any more sadness.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 17:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16179836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl412/pseuds/gothzabini
Summary: It should be impossible to survive 12 years of Azkaban without going insane, but Sirius has never followed the rules. Remus is acutely aware of this.





	Never trust a boy born in '59

**Author's Note:**

> i have big feelings about these boys.  
> also apparently Sirius (and me, by extension) are songwriters now.

Sirius isn’t who he used to be, but in a lot of ways he’s the same as ever. It reassures Remus, knowing that he’ll always be the extroverted, enthusiastic punk rock bad influence that he was in the 70s. To anyone who doesn’t know him, they might even think he got away unscathed. 

Remus grew up with Sirius, grew up alongside him and grew up in love, and maybe this gives him some special insight that no-one else has. Sirius has always been restless and fidgety, but now his movements are accompanied with a sense of unease, as if his skin crawls with the ghosts of jail cells. He jumps at sudden noises, his eyes glaze over sometimes, he stops talking mid-sentence before blinking and continuing where he left off. He doesn’t care if his shirts are crumpled or if his hair is a mess – that might just be the late onset of maturity, but more than that, he flinches at mirrors. He sleeps with a nightlight, or preferably, with a nightlight _and_ with a warm Remus Lupin by his side.

Sirius is subdued, that’s what he is. It’s disorienting for everyone to see Sirius Black without James Potter, but for Remus, who’s spent enough time with both of them to know how they function solo, something’s still off. The fact that Sirius survived is a big enough miracle as it is, but Remus can’t help worrying. He stays awake hours after Sirius is asleep, watching him breathe as if afraid death will steal him away. Remus knows that this is not normal behaviour, but as is his custom, blames such instincts on the wolf inside him.

In a strange way they have swapped roles, he suspects. Dumbledore tells them to lie low at 12 Grimmauld Place, and the light goes out from behind Sirius’s eyes. He doesn’t look like he’s going to make much of a fuss, though, and without even thinking about it, Remus growls out a “No.” Sirius has suffered enough for a thousand lifetimes and Remus isn’t going to stand by and watch anymore. 

“If you confine him to Grimmauld,” Remus says, his voice cold, “I’ll leave the Order.” He does not say, _Good luck finding another werewolf to do your dirty work_. He doesn’t need to. Dumbledore frowns, and asks in a voice that sounds artificially calm, “Where do you propose he stays then?” And Remus doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t frown either. “With me,” he says, in a voice that brooks no argument.

That’s how they find themselves where they are. Sirius borrows Remus’s cardigans and reads his books of poetry. If he find it strange that all the lines with star metaphors are underlined in pencil, he doesn’t mention it. They play records sometimes – Sirius says that silence drives him insane, and Remus does everything he can do to keep it at bay; fixing the radio, buying new cassettes, making small talk.  They don’t talk about anything important at first, but when they do it’s like a dam breaks open and floods everything they’ve ever known.

Sirius has twelve years’ worth of talking to do, and he does. They stay up most nights, and Remus holds his hands and listens to him talk. There’s not much he can say in response that isn’t an apology, but Sirius understands. There’s not much he can do except think of how grateful he is that Sirius is here with him in his average sized house with faded wallpaper and comfortable but mismatched furniture and a radiator that purrs like a cat. Sirius looks out of place sometimes, fiddling with Muggle appliances, or sitting in perfect posture against one of the more beat-up sofas, still looking aristocratic despite everything. 

Sirius writes Harry long letters full of James and Lily and asks him questions about school, and Harry writes back with letters full of excitement and tournaments and worries. Sirius seems a little more alive when he knows he’s needed, and Remus has always known this. He just doesn’t know what to do with this new version of Sirius, who is always aching but too tired to be angry for himself.

There’s outrage in Sirius still, the anger and resentment that made him so frightening and intriguing in Hogwarts still there in some measure. He reads the Daily Prophet and sets it on fire right after, he talks about politics in language peppered with _bloody-fucking-hell_ s, he makes big plans for how he’d avenge James and Lily and protect Harry. But there’s nothing when it comes to his own imprisonment. 

Remus remembers the Sirius from his youth, the Sirius in an abusive house and how he’d act out, how he was always hurting and always angry and looking for answers in places where nobody could’ve ever found any answers. This Sirius is still unpredictable, but less energetic, less likely to stand up for himself, less likely to set fire to things just to clear his head. Remus isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. 

They don’t call each other Padfoot and Moony anymore, except for one of those nights when Sirius is dead to the world and nothing else will bring him back. Remus holds him to his chest then, curls himself protectively around Sirius, and whispers “ _Padfoot_ ” until Sirius’s breathing sounds somewhat normal, and he murmurs a soft “Moony” back. For a moment he can pretend that they’re young again, that the war didn’t spoil everything they had and ruin everything they could’ve had. 

Full moons are almost the same as they used to be. Remus takes the Wolfsbane, because what choice does he have? But Padfoot curls up next to the wolf, and they spend the night in a corner of the room, sleeping. It somehow feels less lonely, though Remus misses running through the countryside. He tells himself that they’ll do it again, one day, after the war is over. 

When Remus finds the old acoustic guitar in the loft, he doesn’t expect Sirius to know the first thing about playing it. Sirius surprises him, tuning it expertly and sitting on the kitchen ledge, playing chords to some Beatles song that Lily was always humming in Potions class. 

While Sirius figures out the guitar, and finds his singing voice, which despite years of unuse is still in key, if a little scratchy, Remus figures out his heart, what all this could mean. He remembers being sixteen and kissing Sirius in hidden alcoves of Hogwarts. He remembers them holding hands, falling asleep together, missing classes to mess around. He remembers the first time Sirius said “I love you,” and the bittersweet sense of hurt aches more than turning into a werewolf does.

Sirius spends the weekend writing a song, and then proceeds to sing it for the rest of the week. Remus almost wishes he could find it annoying, but he find it more endearing than anything else. It’s an act of youth, of who Sirius used to be before things came crashing down around them both.

Remus loves and hates the song in equal measure, but he understands that Sirius is doing it to cope, so he lets him sing. And sometimes, when they bring the alcohol out, in the comforting state of lowered inhibitions, Remus even joins in, although his singing voice can’t compare to Sirius and they both know it.

_ Never trust a boy born in ‘59 _

_ I’m lying low in love, I’m killing time _

_ my friends are all dead or tired, or want me to die _

_ Never trust a boy born in ‘59 _

_ Never trust a boy born in ‘59 _

__

_ Never trust a dog who looks like the dark _

_ Or a man with a wolf in his smile,  _

_ Never trust a boy born in ‘59 _

_ Never trust a rat with a tail like a worm  _

_ Never fall in love if you can’t return _

_ Never trust a boy born in ‘59 _

_ Never trust a boy born in ‘59 _

_ Never trust a boy born in ‘59 _

_ Never trust fascism and its decline _

_ Never trust a man who refuses to die _

_ Never trust a boy born in ‘59 _

_ Never trust a boy born in ‘59 _

__

Time passes, and Sirius seems more whole. He sings out ballads when the children come to visit, and does a wicked rendition of “Weasley is our King.” When there’s a fight at the Ministry, Remus doesn’t let him go, telling him that Voldemort will use the situation to hurt him, using Sirius as a weapon to get Harry. Sirius sits at home while Remus fights, and Remus suspect he cries, but they don’t talk about it.

Sirius gets back to scheming, learns to help with research about Horcruxes, reads through Remus’s action plans and highlights the bits that seem off. He learns to take the war and his hiding with something like good grace, learns to live in Remus’s house like he belongs there. And Remus, watching this subtle change in Sirius –  this coming alive and growing older, simultaneously, decides it’s time to confess.

He takes Sirius’s face in his hands gently, and kisses him softly. It takes Sirius less than three seconds to kiss him back. 

“I still love you,” he says, and for a strange moment it feels like they’re both in their twenties again.

“Of course you do, you’re the overlord of the moon and I’m the brightest star in the sky.” Sirius smirks, but the look on his face suddenly goes impossibly soft. His hands find Remus’s, and he traces patterns around his knuckles, the way he does when he gets nervous. 

“I love you too,” he says eventually. “And since it’s decided that we’re going to survive the war, and I’m going to live here with you for an undeterminable amount of time, we should make it look a little more like a home, shouldn’t we?” 

“If this is about the wallpaper, I refuse to let you change it. Not right now, at least.” Remus smiles.

“Moony, you know me so well,” Sirius says, and he smiles back. Whatever mistakes Remus has made before are over and done with, and this is the new era of love without remorse, love in the face of everything they’ve ever lost. And that is the crux of the matter, and really, the only thing  that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu @gothzabini on tumblr if you want to talk <3


End file.
